


Pieces of Lace

by Lady Clytemnestra (Lady_Clytemnestra)



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, PWP, Shameless Smut, Turbolift, j/c - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 07:11:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Clytemnestra/pseuds/Lady%20Clytemnestra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smut in a turbolift. Goes with something else I'm writing, but I wanted to get this out there.<br/>(Sort of similar to a f/f crossover I wrote called The Missing Piece, only because I wrote both while in [and am still in] a migraine fog.)<br/>Bean-- Hope you like it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pieces of Lace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PCBW](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PCBW/gifts).



     It's a familiar feeling, his eyes burning into me. We're in the turbolift, on our way to the mess-hall to get dinner and then bring it back to our quarters. I don't think we'll make it the whole way. I look up from my PADD and my breath catches in my throat. After four years with him, the smoldering desire in his eyes still makes me breathless.  
  
"Computer," I bark, "halt turbolift."  
  
He leans in for a kiss, one hand on my cheek and the other on the small of my back. His tongue sweeps over my lips and I part them. He draws mine into his waiting mouth, sucks it gently. He frees it, trails kisses across my chin, and I expect him to go straight for that spot on my neck, but he doesn't. This is new. He skips over it, palms my breasts, whispers in my ear, "I'm going to make you scream."  
  
He produces a scarf from his pocket, takes my hands and binds them, then turns me around to face the bulkhead.  
  
This is not something we've explored before, this scarf thing. It's new, a little frightening. But I trust him completely.  
  
"Stay put," he says, pats my behind. Then his hands are at the fastening of my pants, they're sliding down to rest at my ankles. With one swift motion he rips the panties off of me, tosses them aside. I look down and see them, replicated black lace in pieces.  
  
"Those were not cheap," I scold, glowering at him.  
  
He smacks my behind again, then runs his calloused hand over the stinging flesh to soothe it.  
  
  
"I'll replicate you new ones."  
  
He wedges a foot between mine and nudges them apart, until I have to put my forearms against the wall to keep my face from hitting it. My boots force me to stick out my rear as a counterweight. This dominance is also new. He's been in control before, but on equal footing. He's not going to let me take control this time. I am his. It's exhilarating.  
  
"Now," he whispers, his lips grazing the shell of my ear, "you'll have to be quiet, Kathryn. Wouldn't want the crew to hear you."  
  
With his last word, he pulls my backside flush against his pelvis. He is straining against his pants, and judging by the size of him, he's been thinking about this all day.  
  
He sits on the floor between my legs and takes one thigh in each hand. His tongue peeks out of his mouth and this time I can't hold back the moan that escapes me. He chuckles.  
"Not off to a good start, Kathryn."  
  
I close my eyes, forcing myself to be quiet, but then his tongue makes contact with my center, darts inside of me and I am lost. Spearing me, branding me, lovingly, his tongue carresses my tender flesh.  
  
That magical thumb is back and circles my swollen bud with each thrust in. He's building me up slowly, almost painfully, and I am almost weeping.  
  
"Chakotay," I gasp, "please don't tease me..."  
  
His hands are holding me up just as much as they are holding me to him. Languorously his tongue explores my center, painting my inner thighs like a canvas, then darting back for more. One hand leavs my thigh to take its place. Three wonderful digits slip into me, his lips close on that nub and I cannot breathe. My hips roll, a cry leaves my throat and I am burning, suffused by heat and love. Still, he doesn't stop. A little more roughly his fingers thrust, he kisses my soft belly, and nips my hip.  
  
"Kathryn," he calls.  
I open my eyes and look down at him, lock gazes.  
  
"Come for me."  
  
My second climax hits just as hard as the first, my knees giving way. He catches me, holds me up, gets behind me and looses himself from his pants.  
He thrusts into me, hard and fast, no longer concerned with being quiet. He is grunting, speaking strange words interspersed with Federation Standard. He is taking me, claiming me, four years into our partnership. It's animalistic and God help me, I love it. I press back against him, his thrusts deeper and harder, my hands against the wall now.  
"Mine," he growls, reaches for my hair and pulls. "Mine... Spirits... Kathryn..."  
  
"Oh... Please." I hear myself, not sure what I'm asking for. My breasts are aching, swollen and tantalized by the fabric of my bra. "Please, oh..."  
  
He tightens his grip in my hair, and he's managed to make me mew again. This man, my warrior, mine, mine, mine.  
  
"Chakotay... please..."  
  
He spanks me harder.  
  
"Yes!"  
  
Again and again, my backside is stinging and he slaps it once more and I'm soaring, but it's not enough. Oh, I need... I need...  
  
He pulls out of me, lays me on the floor, rips my shirt and tank down the front, lowers himself and thrusts into me again, one hand on the floor by my head and the other in its place at the back of my knee.  
  
My arms are around his neck now, his lips at my breasts through the bra. This is what I needed.  
  
I'm gasping, flying, teetering and he bites my nipple, worries it in his teeth, I'm moaning and he lifts his head, puts a hand over my mouth gently, his thrusts rougher, sporadic, and then he kisses me, I can taste myself in that kiss and nothing exists. White heat and lightning pour through me and he empties himself within me, his lips leaving mine to roar my name.

 

* * *

  
  
    We are breathless, tangled on the floor. He is sweating. I graze my fingers over his tattoo, remembering the first time I saw him. He props himself up on an elbow and unties the scarf.  
  
"Chakotay." He meets my eyes. "I love you."  
  
He kisses me again, that sweet, heady taste on his lips and tongue still. He helps me stand and we dress. I stuff the pieces of replicated lace into my pocket, he puts the scarf in his.  
"And by the way," I begin, a sly smile creeping over my face, "next time, I may have to gag you."


End file.
